


Kryptonite

by Houjuu



Series: Stohn Oneshots [6]
Category: The Lorien Legacies - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Sparring, distracting kiss, kiss prompt, stohn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 02:23:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8826700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Houjuu/pseuds/Houjuu
Summary: John needs to become a better fighter to save the world like he's destined to. But did his sparring partner have to be the object of his latest desires?





	

His first thought was they wouldn't get anything done. He needed to be better, to be ready for the inevitable war that they were faced with. All he had managed to master was avoiding the other boy since New Mexico, the rescue mission, and their encounter after a short fight with Five. His second thought was _of course_. But, that was the luck of a Garde after all.

He almost felt heat on his face for the first time since he mastered Lumen when that striking face was anywhere near John’s own, when the blonde Garde could feel the delicate softness of his panted breath tickle his cheeks.

This was a game to him, it had to be. They knew of the other, even the others knew of what became of their energy. He knew well enough that the hard tension was slowly dissolving every ounce of self control John had left.

He should have just leaned in after the first time his back slapped to the ground, gotten the simple kiss out of the way so it didn’t plague his every blow or block on his sparring partner.

It took John almost four times of being slapped down flat on his back to realize he had to try something else. His method of attack just couldn’t work like this, with all of these extra distractions he made for himself; to anyone readily battle trained, they would know that his version of anger and taunting didn’t work on his opponent anymore. He didn’t want to be mad, he wanted to be thrilled in how much better in combat he had finally gotten.

But sparing with his current hand to hand combat partner always just seemed to end the same. His back and chest throbbed from every time he had been thrown into the hard flooring of the lecture hall and his knuckles had thin dreams of cracked blood running down the back of his hands.

He needed to be better. Fire balls and throwing helicopters with his mind could only work for so long for him.

“Wow, this is still embarrassingly easy,” the deep, arrogant voice of Number Nine chuckled. Maybe picking Nine, the boy who practiced jabs and did pull ups for a straight year in harsh conditions, was his first mistake. Then again, Six was helping train with Sarah most of the time, Marina was about his same level but conventionally busy, Eight didn’t really spar, Five wasn’t readily accessible nor worth the headaches, Sam would die, and Ella didn’t care. After personal and actual excuses, Nine was suddenly all he had left.

Not complaining with his interest in the built, self absorbed boy growing every day but… likely with that personality, sparring was going to be kind of irritable at the least. 

Not to mention the obvious essence of need in the room.

“Not all of us spend four hours on crunches and pull ups when there’s actual shit to do,” John snapped back as he pulled himself up from the ground. He let out a heavy breath as he let his body slump forward in a slouched, seated position.

“I am so wounded Johnny boy that my body forgot to bleed,” Nine mocked dryly. “Get in position, Pittacus Smith, and let a real Garde show you who is the strongest.”

John forced himself not to outwardly cringe at the newest nickname Nine tacked on to him. The little plays on words or senses was Nine’s way of coping with every different person he came across. John hates it since he somehow and unfortunately had the biggest collection of annoying stereotypes and stigma he was shoved into.

He crouched into his generic fighting stance he learned with Six and waited. Nine would eat his stupid names when he was choking on the dust on the hard floor below them.

“Smart fighters strike faster. Know your opponent and know what works the best to break them to their feet” Nine spoke, gesturing with his hands as if John didn't understand a word he said.

The blonde boy loathed how Nine spoke down to him, like he knew everything John was supposed to know better.

“Let’s try some basic counters before I shove your face in the dirt one more time tonight. I'll rush you and you have figure out a way of how to flip me on my back, got it?”

“Get on with it,” John snapped impatiently. The sooner he was out of this room alone with Nine the better. He has been trying to focus for the last two hours they've been drilling each other, all he wanted more than anything was to shut Nine up and leave before he did something he would regret.

“I warned you, Four,” Nine sneered and charged. Luckily for John with every little defeat, he felt he had Nine’s timing and distance he could sprint measured up. Nine’s strength, however, was ironically not his brute power but how fast he thought on his feet; one didn't become a strategist on empty words and beautifully sculpted muscles.

_Focus._

He just caught Nine’s fist as it swung at his head, grunting with the effort. He didn't expect the power behind the punch as it hit, why did Nine feel the need to punch his head off in the first place. John folded his other arm to block a blow to his side by Nine’s foot, simultaneously yanking Nine’s arm forward. He felt relief that he managed to knock Nine off balance but only for a moment before the tan boy’s foot instantly touched back onto the ground to stable him. Nine smirked; John cursed internally, wanting to steer away from a match of pure strength with the boy who trained his body for a straight year out of boredom and tentative release.

It was a little too late for that hope now.

Nine pulled his arm back, forcing John to attempt to hold his weight against the burly Garde as he trying to drag John towards him instead.

“Fuck off,” John hissed, grabbing Nine’s forearm with his open hand. He pulled as hard as he could muster with both arms, feeling Nine’s weight slide the slightest bit forward.

“Bite me,” Nine countered with his signature smug grin and the snarky glint in his dark eyes. He had to say that, of course he had to. He was Nine after all, there was no way he didn’t realize what some of his snark did to John. His feet dug into the ground and heaved John forward. John only pulled back, ignoring the pain as it formed in his wrist where he was being pulled and in his shoulders. John tried not to panic, struggling to think against the throb in his wrist. Any pinch of hesitation could end up with both of them sprawled out on the floor, bruised up and relying on each other for support.

That... could work.

_Maybe if I-_

He ignored the swelling feeling at the thought of being draped across Nine’s taut form on the ground; defeating Nine would always outweigh any sort of feelings he might have.

John let go.

He gave way entirely, letting his weight fall forward into Nine’s pull. He quickly twisted his body so his shoulder faced Nine, giving him enough of an added edge in his attack to wind. The other boy braced against the impact of John’s body, causing John to crash hard into Nine’s chest and forcing the both of them to fall backwards. John didn’t give himself a second to recover, sloppily pulling himself up first before his opponent could. He lunged for one of Nine’s exposed arms, tossed aside from the safety of the side of his body, pinning Nine to the ground. He lifted a foot up, pushing the of it down on Nine’s thigh. For good measure.

_Steady, John._

The other boy raised a brow, examining John’s pin as best he could from where he was stuck. He kept a lazy grin, like he wanted to be pleased but found something else wrong. Like he wanted to make another one of those snarky comments that John hated so much.

“About damn time, Johnny boy.”

“Shut up,” John panted, letting himself smile along.

“You know, I’ve been waiting for this day to come."

“Drop it,” John snapped, pulling his eyes from Nine’s. This long, they managed to got his long without Nine opening his smart mouth or John letting go of all possible self control and kissing him like the war around them ended.

“How long can you keep me down though?” The moment was lost instantly with another challenge. Of course, John cursed to himself for feeling any remorse about it. He frowned and turned back to where he had his friend pinned, squinting in suspicion down at Nine.

“As long as I want to,” he grinned. If he was lucky enough, John could take and dish them.

Nine blinked slowly, then rolled his eyes.

“Just. I’m not going to comment on that one,” he sighed. There was a hint of flustered frustration with every second. He wanted the same things, it was obvious to John. But they were practicing and they had other commitments. The two of them together in any union at all could be dangerous. “Two minutes, that’s all you got. Then we can finally wrap it up.”

“Fine,” John closed his eyes and exhaled in a long breath. He tightened his grip on Nine’s forearm and kept his foot firmly pressed against Nine’s hard muscle. He ignored the tingle from brushing his fingertips against Nine’s soft skin.

His eyes snapped open when he heard Nine’s open hand drag against the hard flooring of the lecture hall. He tensed, waiting to shoot it down with his opposite hand but it grabbed his shirt instead and pulled his face forward, directly into Nine’s. Enough that the tips of their noses lightly touched. John could practically feel the heat on his cheeks, the red dye that the cheeks were taking in as they stared into each other.

“Or we could just be done and get on with it now,” Nine breathed.

“Not in your life,” John growled. He tightened his grip further, trying to pull back on Nine’s death grip locked on the fabric of his garment. “Nice try but I’m not letting you up.”

“I thought I had you for a bit there,” his friend murmured, a sly smile on the tip of his lips.

John didn’t respond, keeping his eyes on Nine from the safe distance he backed his head away to; he was unable to break Nine’s grip but at least he can keep himself calm for now.

Nine jerked on the fabric again, pulling John’s face in a second time but past his own. John opened his mouth to retort but every syllable died on his tongue as he felt the cold, soft presses of Nine’s lips on his neck. He sighed against it instead, feeling himself weaken as Nine kissed the soft spots of his exposed skin.

_Shit._

He didn’t want it to come down to this. He didn’t want to be a loser.

But, on the flipside he did have the all powerful Number Nine firmly held beneath him and kissing his skin. He held back a quiet pant, biting on his lip as Nine’s lips dragged from his neck up to his ear.

“What, don’t like this,” the other boy whispered in his ear, lightly biting the delicate skin. John exhaled.

“I didn’t say that,” he panted, squeezing Nine’s arm as an act of steadying himself instead of holding the boy in the dust.

“I beg to differ,” Nine laughed softly in his ear. His lips found their way back to John’s neck, kissing and biting the side. John closed his eyes again, trying to distract himself from the feeling of Nine holding his body. His foot slipped from it’s place on Nine’s leg but he brought his knee down onto him instead.

_I am going to win._

He reuttered the words competition to himself over and over again in his thoughts. Something, anything to keep him afloat. Nine pulled John forward by the shirt once more, kissing his jaw line. He lifted his head up, sighing into the touches.

His knee then slipped next, bringing him forward towards Nine’s chest instead of being flipped completely onto his back and left behind. Nine’s hand fisted in his shirt kept him up, holding him in place for Nine to continue to kiss his softest spots. Things he didn’t know were such weaknesses of his.

That or his ultimate weakness was the boy pressed underneath him.

And that was ok.

Two minutes had to be up by now.

“Fuck this,” John finally spat. He pulled up, hard, breaking himself of Nine’s grip and sitting up on top of Nine’s lap. The other boy cocked an eyebrow, almost as though he was biding his time for John’s next move.

He leaned forward, planting a firm kiss on Nine’s lips. He left go of Nine’s arm, running his hands down Nine’s torso instead. The other boy’s calloused hands threaded under his shirt and behind his neck, maintaining the heat of the kiss. While it wasn’t hot, it was the heat of the moment, the linger of built up tension and denial all released at once.

He was right when it came to Nine, that this forced distance had affected him too.

John pressed, letting go everything once again. He let himself kiss and be kissed, be held close to the most insufferable yet compelling being in his life. Nine growled against his place against John’s lips, his teeth grazing John’s lips and his tongue teasing every part it could touch. The one hand on the back of his neck slowly moved up, nestling his fingertips into John’s blonde hair. The second hand was planted against the sweaty skin of John’s back, rubbing delicate circles against his spine. It made him shudder.

John moved his thumbs across Nine’s abdomen, ghosting his fingertips along the sides of his built torso. Nine let out a noise, tensing his hand in John’s hair.

The two broke apart suddenly, both gasping for breath without leaving the other’s tight embrace.

“Your two minutes are up,” Nine wheezed. John nodded but he didn’t care as much anymore. Right now, all that mattered was who was here with him, feeling and desiring the same things he longed for since the first night months ago.

“So… is that how long you usually last,” John replied, letting out a throaty laugh amongst his gulps for air.

“Well. Why don’t we find out then,’ Nine remarked, pulling John’s head back down and into another kiss.


End file.
